Posted on 01/16/2018 9:41:49 PM PST by mairdie
It would be a 3000 mile trip for me but you make it awfully tempting.
:)
That’s one whale of a photo.
If a tree grows in the desert, does anyone see it?
Beautiful woman. Would love to see her hair in color.
My daughter got married last March and we took photos of the couple standing in a newly fallen snow on that sunny day. White dress against a white ground and greenery background. She looked beautiful.
Wedding photos are “memories” for a lifetime.
I have an interest in getting the inscriptions from old gravestones (family historian). Have you had any luck with that? And where did you take the picture?
Thanks, ‘Pod
Gorgeous!
bkmk
The one of the newly-married couple is ruined by the man-bun. The one of the Australian Carnival snack stand is ruined by leggings.
Didn’t know that they still made Hasselblad cameras.
First thing I thought of seeing the’tool’ pic was the dentist office. Yuck.
The desert scene or long hair my favorites.
My father was born in Norway and came to America at around age 6 or 7. He was born with blonde hair and blue eyes but his hair turned dark as he got older. But he had an aunt on his father’s side who he remembered seeing him off to America who was quite tall and had beautiful flaming red hair and piercing blue eyes.
My mother whose ancestry is German and English and perhaps some Welsh was a strawberry blonde with hazel eyes.
I have natural strawberry blond hair and blue -green eyes, some days looking more green than blue – sort of “mood” eyes as I swear the color changes with the weather and sometimes with my mood, but my brother was born with blonde hair and blue eyes.
Some have surmised that the red-haired people of Ireland and Scotland get their red hair from their Viking ancestry. But the is some questions on whether that is true or not.
But it is probably true that the Norwegian born Viking Eric The Red was named so because of his red hair and red beard.
What wonderful stories! Isn’t it exciting to know that you’re carrying so many people inside you who all turned into one unique individual? History walking around in a present day piece of art.
Can you imagine the excited screams all over FR if your picture was one of those in the set? We’d be jumping up and down and yelling. May it happen! May it happen!
It does look as though the spirits are rising.
I visit a lot of cemeteries for genealogy. One had the spongiest ground I’d ever walked on. It felt as though I might, at any moment, sink down and meet my ancestors face to ghostly, ghastly face.
The gentleman who made my videotapable kaleidescope in his home machine shop had a company dedicated to repairing high end cameras. I wish I’d videotaped him telling his stories.
I kept wanting to see her hair in color, too, at first. Then I decided that the photo would lose some of its mystery if I did.
Congratulations on your daughter’s marriage. May she know the same happiness that you know looking at her.
I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE that picture! :)
Hahaha....it would be drowned out by the sound of me patting myself on my back.
You, my friend, create incredible images with your vivid use of words. No camera needed.
>>You, my friend, create incredible images with your vivid use of words. No camera needed.
Thank you. Sincerely. I love word pictures. Thinking of cemeteries reminds me of something in the intro to my book on Henry Livingston.
“The Poughkeepsie Holiday Inn Express is located directly across Route 9 from the Poughkeepsie Rural Cemetery. Normally, this wouldn’t be one of the qualities I’d look for in a hotel, except that this particular cemetery used to be the farm of Henry’s father, another Henry, and it’s where the Livingston clan is buried. Their section is located far from the entrance and shielded from the rest of the cemetery by a stand of tall trees. There, in a small, secluded plot of land, march the gravestones of over sixty of my ancestors, aunts, uncles and cousins.
“When you stand in any church where your ancestors once worshiped, you can almost feel those long dead men and women there beside you. Marriages, baptisms and funerals - the highs and lows of their lives - all witnessed and preserved by the walls and stained glass windows of that place. Sit quietly, and you can hear the murmur of their laughter and the sobs of their pain.
“A graveyard is different. There are no walls to hold in the voices of the mourners and their voices would be, anyway, blown away by the wind. And so you’re left to listen, instead, to each single voice beneath each separate stone. It was there at his grave, introducing myself, that my relationship with Henry Livingston really began.”
Why am I having so much trouble turning the face into a female one rather than a male? It’s like one of those mind puzzles. I look at it once and it’s a boy; again, and it’s a girl.
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